Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the collective works of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Saga

Chapter 18: Don't Reach Twelve

Louisa awoke at an ungodly hour with a terrible crick in her neck. It wasn't quite dawn if the pale grey light filtering through the drapes was anything to go by, but it was right around that time. She could hear a choir of birds screaming their morning song somewhere not too far away. But most importantly, she could feel a cold hand resting on her hip, the thumb drawing absent mind circles as its owner stared out of the window. She sat up, and Jasper turned to face her, evidently surprised that she was awake.

"You stayed," she whispered.

His head tilted, brow wrinkling in confusion. "I told you that I would," he said, making Louisa realise that she quite like hearing his drawl first thing in the morning.

Louisa had to smile at his words. "Thank you," she said. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. The toothy grin she received when she pulled away supported her bold actions. "I appreciate it."

A warm, bubbly feeling wrapped around her, particularly when he leaned their foreheads together. "Of course, ma'am."

"Will you be in trouble for staying the night?"

Jasper gave her an amused look. "Carlisle and Esme aren't really my parents, you know."

Louisa pulled away, her brow furrowing. "But surely they'd have some sort of opinion for spending the night at my house."

"It was just Alice and me when I left," Jasper stated, leaning forward so their heads were pressed together once more. "The rest of the family went on a hunting trip. They'll be home tonight, I imagine."

"Why do you do that?" She blurted out.

"Do what?" he asked, his expression still amused.

"Keep touching me?"

Jasper pulled away, his eyes wide. "I apologise, I wasn't thinking it might be uncomfortable for you."

"No, no," Louisa replied quickly. "I don't mind. I…" like it a lot, she wanted to say, which surprised her, but she realised was true. "It's just something I noticed. You don't seem particularly fond of physical contact from any of your siblings."

"I'm not. I'm just fond of you," he drawled, the boyish grin returning to his face.

Louisa had to resist the urge to grab his stupid face and kiss him for real. "I'm flattered," she said, horrified to hear her voice sounded breathy. The grin grew wider when he heard it too. "When are you leaving?"

"Trying to get rid of me already, Miss Collins?"

"I've been trying for a while now," she deadpanned.

Jasper chuckled softly. "Your father is waking up," he said. "I'll return in a few hours, at a more respectable time. Unless you want to explain that I spent the night?"

"Get out of here, you rascal."

He chuckled again before swooping in and planting a kiss on her cheek. He was gone by the time her brain had processed what happened, the scent of apple pie and cotton sheets the only clue that he had been there moments before. "Ass," she said, hoping he could hear her, before sliding off the sofa and gathering up her pillow and blanket. She bumped into her father on the upstairs landing.

"What are you doing up already?" He asked, unable to hide his surprise to see his eldest daughter awake at such an early hour. He could count the number of times she had woken up willingly before noon on one hand. "Are you feeling alright?"

Louisa shrugged and tried to stifle a yawn. "I couldn't sleep last night," she said, because she didn't want to tell him about being thrown out of her bed, and even more reluctant to explain that Jasper 'the Babe' Hale spent the night on the sofa with her. "Can I have coffee?"

"No," her father replied, amusement lacing his voice. He kissed her forehead and brushed passed her, his steps light on the stairs as he descended into the kitchen. Louisa could see that his eyes were still shadowed and felt confident in her decision to let him sleep the previous night. Quickly, she tossed her belongs into her room and padded down the stairs after her father, hoping she could convince him to make pancakes.

Dottie joined them a few hours later, long blonde hair wild, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "What's wrong with you?" she asked, noticing her sister sitting at the kitchen table.

Louisa stuck her tongue out at her sister and went back to her breakfast. Dottie made herself a plate of pancakes and sat next to Louisa in a way that was screamed of false casualness. Louisa pretended not to notice her sister's odd behaviour, knowing she would talk about what was bothering her on her own time. Or, at least, that what was what she had planned on doing. But even after their father had wandered upstairs to shower, Dottie continued to fidget in her seat, poking at her pancakes and watching the syrup ooze out of them.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Louisa asked finally.

Dottie dropped her fork and turned to face Louisa, her eyes narrowed as she regarded her older sister's face. "How did you find him yesterday?"

Frankly, Louisa was surprised Dottie had managed to wait for as long as she did. She sat in silence for a few moments, trying to collect her thoughts. When she answered, she continued to stare down at her plate, unable to look her sister in the eye and lie to her. "His street clothes were still in his locker, along with his shirt. The rest of his kit was missing, so I assumed he was still wearing it. People would have noticed that he was walking around shirtless, so he had to be somewhere he couldn't be seen."

"And you just happened to guess the soccer field?" Dottie asked, scepticism colouring her words. Her tone confused Louisa, and she glanced up at her sister. Dottie's face was weirdly blank, and she wasn't entirely sure why.

"It was the closest place to where he last was seen," she replied.

"How did you know that that was where he last was?" Dottie challenged.

Louisa was growing more confused at the questioning. "You told me he had gym, Dot. He would have had to change after class." She reached forward to grab her sister by the arm. "What's wrong?"

Dottie pursed her lips. "How did you do it?" she asked. Her tone wasn't angry, exactly, but she was definitely frustrated. "Nobody else knew where he was, except for the people who put him there."

Louisa pulled back quickly. "If you are asking me if I had anything to do with Spencer, the answer is no." She stood and walked her plate over to the sink. "I have better things to do than attempt to murder sophomores in high school."

Dottie stood up from her chair as well and bound over to Louisa, eyes narrowed. "That wasn't what I was implying, and you know it, Louisa." She grabbed her arm and spun her sister to face her. "I what to know how you did what you did."

"I did what I always do, Dorothy," she snapped, wrenching her arm from her sister's grip and turning back towards the sink, focusing on washing her plate.

"No, this was different," Dottie insisted. "You knew which locker was his, and how to get into it. You didn't wander around, looking at things. You moved like you knew what you were doing."

Louisa placed her plate on the drying wrack and pulled a skillet off the hob, trying to make herself look busy. "I've always been like this, Dot," Louisa replied, echoing what Jasper had told her the night before. "It's not like you've ever seen me work before."

"Why are you lying to me?"

Louisa dropped the skillet in the sink and threw her hands up in the air. "What you want me to say, Dottie? That I have some sort of psychic ability?" She pushed passed her sister and began to make her way towards the stairs. She paused and glanced back at Dot, whose expression was a mixture of frustration and hurt. Louisa's heart squeezed painfully at the sight and tried to think of an explanation that would satisfy her sister. "It's just practice, that's all. Dr Cullen told me it was a coping mechanism from after I lost my memories." Not an outright lie, but not exactly the truth. Either way, Louisa didn't like keeping her sister in the dark like this. But what else could she do?

When Dottie didn't respond, Louisa trudged up the stairs towards her room, locking the door behind her. She leaned her back against the door for a few minutes, breathing slowly and trying not to cry, a feat that became harder when she caught sight of her bedframe, which was still pushed away from the wall. Why had she wanted to live in this house again? Maybe Dottie had been right: living in a murder house was a bad idea. Louisa mentally berated herself at the thought. There was a more logical explanation than the paranormal (notwithstanding the Cullens). There had to be.

By the time doorbell rang a few hours later, Louisa had showered, dressed, and cleaned her room. She bounded down the stairs, only to see that her father had beat her to the front door and was welcoming, not Jasper, but a raincoat-clad Rosalie into their home. She was almost as tall as Mr Collins, and with her wavy golden hair and well-proportioned features, she looked so much like a model cosplaying as a high schooler that Louisa had to resist the urge to laugh. Instead, she shot her friend a confused look but played along when Rosalie scolded her for not telling her father that they were hanging out for the day. After Rosalie had toed off her boots, Louisa dragged her up towards her bedroom.

"Your father wouldn't have let Jasper up into your room," Rosalie explained the moment the door closed behind them. "And he'd rather know that you are safe. He'll stop by later tonight." She didn't give Louisa time to reply, choosing to walk over to her bed and begin to inspect it. "You said you were asleep?"

Louisa appreciated that Rosalie didn't feel the need for small talk, preferring to get straight to business. She moved towards the bed, lying down, imitating her position from the night before. Rosalie proceeded to pick up the bed and tried to throw Louisa out of it. "A little warning would have been nice," Louisa grumbled, picking herself up off the floor. "And that wasn't what it felt like. The bed didn't tilt. It felt more like a shove if anything."

Rosalie scowled. "Unless the wall was the thing that shoved you, Louisa, what you are describing is impossible."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Louisa replied. She sat cross-legged on her bed, patting the spot next to her in invitation. Rose rolled her eyes but sat down next to her. "But whatever did it, was strong."

"And you think it is a ghost?" Rosalie asked, her eyes narrowed.

Louisa groaned and flopped backwards onto the pillows. "The whole town seems to think that the house is haunted."

"Perhaps it is," Rosalie replied. "Something is in this house. The longest time anybody has lived here after the murder was nine months. The shortest was three days. The previous owners can't all be crazy." She reached over and stilled Louisa's hands, which had begun to pick at her cuticles. "You're going to make them bleed."

"Sorry." Louisa sat up again and faced her friend. "She died here," she said after a moment.

Rosalie nodded. "In this room, right?"

Louisa shook her head. "No, against this wall," she said, extending an arm to tap the wall her bed was standing against. "The last thing she saw was his eyes. They were blue."

Rosalie was staring at her intently, a curious expression on her face. "This was from your dream?" When Louisa nodded, Rosalie picked up her purse and pulled out an iPad, opening up a notes app. "Walk me through what happened."

Louisa rose and walked over to the window seat and curled up like she remembered Anna had been. "I couldn't see his face," she began, looking out at the window. "I just heard him walking in the room. I watched him mostly in the reflection of the glass. He paced a lot. Then we argued."

"Before we continue, I want to remind you that you didn't argue with him," Rosalie said. "Try to keep yourself separate from this." Louisa turned her head towards Rose, whose fingers were still poised over the touchscreen. "Jasper, Alice, and Edward all agree that the only way to deal with their powers is to remember that what you are experiencing belongs to someone else. You'll drive yourself mad if you don't."

Louisa gave a shuddering breath but nodded. "Right, I don't need to be more insane than I already am." She stood up from the bench and continued on with what she could remember about the dream. "I— she was angry at him because he kept blaming her for getting pregnant. She told him that she would tell his wife… and the police I think. She was eighteen. She felt like this was an important detail…" Louisa pressed her palms to her eyes. A headache had begun to sprout somewhere that was between her eyes and her ears, but she continued anyway. "He killed her then," Louisa finished. She pointed to the spot directly behind where Rose was sitting, trying to clear her eyesight, which had gone fuzzy. "My bed wasn't there. It's in the corner."

Rosalie hopped up and gently pushed Louisa back into the window seat. "Separate yourself, Lou," she whispered, sitting down next to her and rubbing her back. "You aren't Anna."

Her instructions were easier said than done. It was so hard. Louisa closed her eyes, bit down on her lip, and tried to concentrate on breathing evenly. Centre herself. Focus. On the rain pitter-pattering on the glass window. On Rose's hand sliding up and down her spine. On the hot air hissing out of the vents, rattling like leaves in the wind. When she opened her eyes again, she stared at the metal bed frame in frustration. "Anna's bed wasn't there." She pointed to the shorter wall of the room where her desk was, the one that was surrounded by bookshelves on three sides. "That's where hers was. She had a single bed and it fit really well between the walls." Louisa stood up abruptly and strode over to her desk and pulled it away from the wall. "Help me move my bed over here."

"I'm not sure if this is a good idea," Rosalie said, still sitting at the window.

"I need to remember more of my dream. I'm missing something," Louisa pleaded.

With a sigh, Rosalie stood and picked up one side of Louisa's bed, moving it to where Anna's had been ten years before. "She didn't have a desk," she said after a moment of Louisa closing her eyes and grimacing.

"How do you know that?"

Rosalie reached into her purse and extracted a thin manila folder, which she handed to Louisa. "I have the crime scene photos."

Louisa snatched up the folder and jumped onto her bed, her grey eyes flying across the pages of police reports. "How did you get these?"

"Emmett is very good with computers," Rosalie explained. "I wanted to see what you knew about the incident before you read the file."

"Her body is in the wrong place," Louisa said after a moment. "She died against the wall. They found her in her bed."

"So she was moved," Rosalie responded, not understanding why Louisa found that detail so important.

Louisa gave a huff of frustration and hopped up, pulling Rosalie towards the approximate spot Anna had died in her dream. "If what happened in my dream was a memory of the past, she died here, right?" She grabbed Rose's hands and wrapped them around her neck. "You choke me out. I've died from lack of oxygen or pressure on the jugular. I slide down the wall," she said, mimicking just that. "So how did I get in my bed?"

"Her murderer moved her," Rosalie stated.

Louisa shook her head. "That's significant," she said. "He spent extra time with her. He could have just run when he realised she was dead, but he didn't. He picked her up, a cooling corpse, and placed her in her bed."

Rosalie furrowed her brow and sank to the floor next to Louisa. "Okay, why though?"

"That's a good question," Louisa replied, rubbing her forehead. "It could have been some sort of forensic countermeasure, I suppose, but he choked her; there wouldn't have been anything to clean up." She sighed in frustration, and pulled the folder towards her, rifling between the pages of the report, the frown on her face deepening the longer she stared at the words. "I'm missing something important." Louisa tossed the folder away and moved to touch the bookshelf behind her, only to be stopped by Rosalie.

"You've used it enough today," she said. "Pushing yourself won't do you any good."

"I need to know," Louisa replied, trying to keep her tone from sounding like a petulant whine.

"Another day. You nearly fainted earlier. Yes," Rose said forcefully when Louisa tried to protest. "You did. Jasper will have my head if anything happens to you."

"You're allowed to care about me, Rose," Louisa snarked, settling down beside the other girl. "I won't judge you for it. It means that we are friends."

She missed whatever Rosalie's response was, having caught sight of a name on the police report. "Charles Swan," Louisa said aloud. "Chief Swan was a responding officer. Do you think he'd talk to us?"

Rosalie regarded her question, face pensive. "It's possible. We'd have to phrase it right, though. I can't imagine the police department trying to solve crimes."

"They don't," Louisa confirmed. She pulled her laptop off of her desk and opened up the internet and typing 'Anna Sweet Murder' into Google. "We'll need to be even more careful about what we ask. He'll be hella suspicious if we know the contents of a police report."

Within thirty minutes, the two teens were surrounded by printouts of old news articles (it would've taken less time had the Wi-Fi not chosen that moment to be painfully slow). Rosalie, who was a much faster reader than Louisa, would flip through the article first, highlighting important details for Louisa to cross-reference with the police report. At one point, Mr Collins poked his head into the room, prompting frantic shuffling of papers to be tossed under the bed. He commented briefly about the rearrangement of the furniture but seemed to buy Louisa's hurried excuse for it. In the end, it took a distressingly short amount of time to comb through the files: Louisa wasn't sure if she had ever seen such a pitiful police report. It was too easy to hide the papers in the false bottom of her desk drawer.

They trudged downstairs and pulled on their shoes and coats, Louisa calling over her shoulder to her father that the two of them were going out. Louisa had planned on walking the short distance to Chief Swan's house, but Rosalie flat out refused, pushing her towards the passenger seat of a flashy red car, grumbling about dumb humans and walking in the rain. The comments gave Louisa enough fodder to tease Rosalie about her drama queen tendencies for the incredibly short ride.

"Next time you drive getaway," Louisa said as they walked up the driveway of Chief Swan's house. "Choose a less conspicuous car." She snickered when Rosalie gave her a rude hand gesture.

Chief Swan was, understandably, rather surprised to find the two girls standing on his front stoop on his day off. He waved them into his sitting room, belatedly offering them drinks. He didn't entertain very often. They made idle small talk that made him uncomfortable, bored Rosalie, and annoyed Louisa. None of them seemed to be a fan of the social custom, but nobody seemed to know what to do. Unable to take the awkward atmosphere any longer, Louisa took the direct approach and asked him about the Sweet murder point blank, eliciting a sigh of exasperation from Rosalie.

The Chief of Police blinked, thrown off by the abrupt change of topic. "Your father warned me that this might happen," he said after composing himself.

Louisa, who prided herself on being unpredictable, found herself annoyed by this revelation. "When?"

Chief Swan's moustache twitched as if he found the situation amusing. "Not long after you moved to town. He told me that you were often incapable of minding your own business, and under no circumstances was I to allow you to insert yourself into any ongoing investigations."

"I think I'm offended," Louisa replied, even though he was one hundred percent correct. She lightly kicked Rosalie in the ankle when she snickered.

"He's correct," Chief Swan said.

"Is this really an ongoing investigation though?" Louisa asked, undeterred. "It seems more like a cold case to me. Technically, neither of us would be disobeying my father's commands."

"Louisa," Chief Swan sighed. "This isn't something that you need to be involving yourself in. "Your sleuthing is not only dangerous but illegal. Civilians have no place aiding in investigations."

It was Rosalie who replied, "That's not necessarily true, though, is it? The police appeal to the public for help all the time."

"Yes, for reporting crimes. Tip lines are very different than actively investigating a crime."

Louisa felt her temper rising and clenched her hands into fists, fingernails digging into her palms, trying to resist the urge to shout. "In 1998, Todd Matthews positively identified the murder victim known only as the 'Tent Girl' to be Barbara Ann Hackmann Taylor. He went on to cofound the Doe Network, who since their formation in 1999, have successfully identified 81 Jane and John Does. The group is run entirely by civilians, and they work closely with local law enforcement."

Chief Swan gave her a smile that he probably meant to be polite, but she took to be incredibly condescending. "That's not exactly the same—"

Her heart was pounding, blood roaring in her ears so loudly she could barely hear herself when she began to speak over the older man. "In 1991, the non-profit group NecroSearch International was founded. It's run by civilians, and they aid law enforcement officials using scientific evidence to find the location of graves. They specialise in homicide cases that have gone cold due to the lack of a body."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rosalie watching her intently. Chief Swan looked either annoyed or scandalised at her brashness. Louisa ignored both of them. He needed to understand and he wasn't. She switched tactics.

"You have a teenage daughter who is somewhere between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. She not athletically inclined, most likely pretty clumsy. You haven't seen her in a while. You miss her, but you don't want to bother her. You think she doesn't want you in her life, maybe because she never calls, most likely because she refuses to visit. You spend a lot of your time alone. You used to fish often, but have recently stopped after a falling out with your friend. Your diet consists of mostly food that can be heated up in the microwave and cheap beer. You throw yourself into your work because you are lonely, but don't make friends easily. Just because I don't have a badge like you do, doesn't mean I can't help you, Chief Swan. "

No one spoke when she finished, the silence only broken by Louisa's jagged breaths. She had stood up at some point during her rant, but she couldn't remember when she had done so. Slowly, she sank back down next to Rosalie on the sofa, trying to calm herself down. "Mr Sweet's daughter died, Chief Swan. He deserves answers. Would you be satisfied if you didn't have answers to your daughter's murder after ten years?"

"Eleven years and three months," Chief Swan said after a moment. "She died eleven years and three months ago. It was the first major case I took after my divorce. It was my first and only murder investigation. I never really stopped looking into it."

"Forks is a small town. Murder capital of the world it is not," Rosalie pointed out. "Why wasn't it ever solved?"

Chief Swan sank back into his armchair, looking exhausted. "Besides the lack of evidence? Nobody wanted to investigate."

Rose let out an indigent huff. "A girl in a small town was murdered and nobody cared?"

"I cared," Chief Swan replied sternly. "But I seem to be the only one most days."

"But why?" Rosalie asked. "Why didn't anyone else?"

Chief Swan rubbed a hand over his face. "The theory at the time was that Anna knew her attacker," he began slowly. "There was no sign of forced entry: all of the doors and first-floor windows were locked. Her father unlocked the front door when he came home after work. Anna never left Forks in her life."

"You think it was someone from the community?" Rosalie guessed.

Chief Swan nodded. "No one was exactly keen to point fingers. Speculation was beginning to tear up the town. Nobody felt safe, everyone was a suspect. Residents began locking their doors for the first time. Then someone let slip that Anna had been pregnant when she died. Suddenly, it was Anna's fault. She wasn't the victim, she was the villain. A lot of nasty rumours began to circulate about her character after that. I'm sure I don't have to explain what they were about.

"Her mother used to call the station every day, asking for updates. Sometimes she would even come down in person. She wanted to make sure that we didn't slack off or get distracted, not that there were many other cases at the time. Once the rumours started, they started coming in less and less. One day, she just stopped. The family moved away about a year after the murder. They couldn't go anywhere without people harassing them. Their house and cars were vandalised on more than one occasion."

"Her own mother gave up on her?" Rosalie asked, scandalised.

Chief Swan looked pensive. "I'm not sure if that was the right word. I think she was tired, more than anything. Parents are people too. Sometimes they are incapable of fighting anymore. I can only imagine what those poor people went through, having to defend their own murdered daughter."

They lapsed into silence. Louisa could see how white Rosalie's face had gone and reached out to place a hand on the girl's clenched fists. She was furious, Louisa could tell that much. But heartbroken too. Louisa was angry too, yes, but something had resonated with Rosalie. She rubbed the girl's wrist, trying to offer a small amount of comfort and was relieved to see the hands relax somewhat.

"Every time I try to reopen the case, there is a lot of public outrage. They want to move on, forget the whole affair," Chief Swan said finally. "They want the dead to stay dead. They're more than happy make murder into a legend and turn Anna into a ghost story. It's easier to deal with when they forget the person behind it all, I suppose."

"No one deserves to be forgotten," Rosalie replied softly.

"No, they don't," he said firmly before sighing. "I'm breaking a lot of rule, girls."

"We just want to help," Louisa explained. "You are one person. We can investigate on our own free time. If we find anything, I swear, we will call you and let you deal with it."

"I promised your father that I wouldn't let you get involved," he reminded the teen.

"And I promised him that I was done with sleuthing. But Chief Swan, I can't let this go unsolved, not any longer. Whatever happened in that house is still there, still effects it," Louisa said. She leaned forward, resting her forearms are her knees, her words pleading. "The Sweet family deserves answers. Anna deserves justice. Don't let it become twelve years, Chief Swan. Let us help."

Warring emotions flittered across the man's face: annoyance, frustration, anger, and exhaustion to name a few. But also a little bit of hope. "If you stop by the station on Monday, there might be a file sitting on my desk. I don't know what would be in it, but you might find it helpful."

Louisa could stop the grin from blooming across her face. "I can't imagine why we would need it," she said. "But I'm sure we'll find it interesting."

The girls didn't linger much longer, excusing themselves from the chief's house. They piled into Rose's car and drove the short distance back to Louisa's place. When she turned off the engine, the remained in the car for a moment, contemplating their next moves.

"This has to be quiet," Louisa said. "My dad would probably murder me if he found out I was doing this. I promised him I was done with crime-solving when we left Tacoma."

Rosalie smiled at her, a sinister, shark-like grin, where there was no humour or any emotion behind the eyes— just a row of glittering teeth. The sight sent shivers down her spine, and Louisa realised exactly why so many people avoided the Cullen family. "Oh, trust me," she replied. "I can do discreet."

"Do you want to come back in?" Louisa asked. "We don't have to do anything involving murder."

Rosalie laughed. "I appreciate it, but perhaps another time. Jasper will want to know what is happening."

"Alice wouldn't have already told him?"

"Oh, no doubt. She rarely keeps things from him." Rosalie said. "But he'll want a full status report in person."

"Yeah," Louisa agreed. "That sounds like him."

Louisa moved to get out of the car, but paused and asked Rosalie to wait for a moment before dashing into her house. Rosalie didn't have to wait long before the human had returned, a gift bag in her hands. Rosalie rolled down the window and Louisa passed the gift to her.

"It doesn't really keep to the theme of horrible presents, and I know it's not much," Louisa said. "I had a few hours to kill."

Rosalie reached into the bag and pulled out a long, silvery-blue scarf. It was lacy and delicate and looked like it took a lot longer than a few hours to create. Rosalie had received a lot of gifts in her existence, but she couldn't remember the last time a human gave her one. Or a friend. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

"I crochet when I'm stressed," Louisa replied, her cheeky grin not quite masking the relief on her face. She waved to Rosalie and promised to see her on Monday before turning around and hurrying back inside her house.

"There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest." –Elie Wiesel

A/N: I found out I passed all of my classes, which means I am done with university. I wrote this chapter to celebrate. What did you think? My first draft had Jasper instead of Rosalie in it, but the tone wasn't right and I ended up scraping most of it. I am much more satisfied with how it turned out. Leave me a comment and let me know what you think! I love reading your theories about what might happen. -CheckAlexa